Life isn't a race. Slow down, pause, and look back. Then start on your way again.
This blog is really old
And filled with really old shame
Nestled safe between the papers
It lies serene and quiet
A light appears, it slowly quavers
At loud rambunctious riot.
Scholars and academia
All gathered round the victim
Ogling the cornucopia
Of body parts that met them.
They took the scalpel and incised
Taking out its organs
And while plucking, they surmised
Its purposes and notions.
After ripping up their prey
They placed the pieces back
In careless haphazard play
they threw them squish and smack
In the end the poor thing looked
nothing like it had
the monsters had removed
its beauty and ‘twas sad;
In their quest to find the secret
Which gave such form and beauty
They succeeded nicely, yet
paid no heed to sanctity.
What the fuck brain
Why do you always tease me with these awesome art ideas that I’ll never have the time, talent, or willpower to finish
The e’er present test of chance
Oh the reasons people give
To this trick of mind!
If a man has a windfall
Coincidence, or lucky day?
Alas, the mind is feeble so;
"It’s luck!" the people say.
Seven, thirteen, eight, and three
The good, the bad, the mystical-
So the people link events
when happenings seem quizzical.
Black cat, mirror, salt and ladder
No end to the hectic flurry!
A lucky scarf? A mystic sweater?
Aye! More sources of worry!
But eventually, the people stopped
The more they came to know-
They broke a mirror, nothing happened
Bought a charm, but, it failed. So…
Luck, the e’er present test of chance
Became nothing but a game,
A toy for toddlers and fools
But truly, not a shame.
For ‘tis better things to put your time
Than in sketchy charms and curses
Working hard will do more
To fill your empty purses.
So take this as a warning, children
Don’t waste your time with these
For they will do no more than empty
Your minds and wallets with ease.
As you might guess from the title, I hate blurry shots that aren’t done on purpose.
A photograph is supposed to capture the moment, to take an instant of that person’s life, preserve it, and remind that person of that moment for life. And longer.
But a blurry photograph fails in this regard.
A blurred photograph is almost never on purpose, of course. You want the image to be crystal clear; it’s a complement to your memory, which is already hazy. You remember all the important things, like the yells, the laughter, the sadness, the happiness. But when you can’t quite reach the specific details, the photograph is there to help you, in its graphic pristineness, to remember.
That blurred photo doesn’t do shit. It might do a little bit to help you remember, but all you’ll end up doing in the end is go, “Huh?” and most likely throw it out of your album. And how sad would that be? Something that might have potentially brought back good memories, thrown out like common garbage. It’s throwing away potential years of your life. It’s disgusting. And hideous. It makes me want to vomit that someone would take a blurry picture with a camera and just keep it instead of immediately deleting it and retaking a new one. They have no excuse either, since it’s the digital age. It’s the same reason that, if I ask someone to take a picture of me, outside I’ll be smiling and thanking them, but inside I’ll be cursing their soul and hoping they run into a string of bad luck that month. It’s the same reason I try to find a table or some other firm surface to hold my camera on (which, incidentally, might have led to some physical abuse of my camera…but that’s irrelevant!).
The camera, which is a machine, is supposed to be perfect. The reason why we use cameras instead of paintings or drawings is because the camera captures so much more realistically and truthfully than drawings do as a whole. It can be artistic, of course, and it can tell as many lies as a painting can, but that’s not its primary use. Its primary use is to counterbalance our imperfectness as humans in describing emotion, remembering situations, and recalling memory.
But…perhaps that’s the whole point.
In the midst of my ranting, I came to the thought: since humans are imperfect creatures, why should our graphical representations of ourselves be perfect? Isn’t a perfect representation of us in itself an imperfect representation? The image, if perfect, shows perfect humans doing whatever it is they’re doing in the scene. But if blurry, it shows that there is more beneath their hazy façade. We’re not seeing their true selves, and that what we see is only a dim perception of an image they have created for themselves and what others see. It’s something nearly everyone in the world does, and then not just one blurry image. They have multiple blurry images that they show to different groups of people, and switch out as necessary, so that no one ever knows their true self. It’s deception.
Well, then again. That happens with clear photographs too.
Does this have any truth to it? Possibly.
Am I over-analyzing things? Most definitely.
Do I still hate the damn pictures? A resounding yes.